THE SCHOOL MAGAZINE

Summer 1962

EXAMS (Anon)

I'm sitting here my head a-whirl.
On to my forehead drops a curl.
With pen in hand my pulses race,
A dreaded test will soon take place.

A teacher puts a paper down,
Face downwards - which does make me frown.
To glimpse the black print I cannot.
My hands a tremble and face hot.

The time goes on and papers turn.
Our chance has gone for more to learn.
To beat the clock is our desire,
So one, two, three - away we fire.

An hour goes by or maybe two.
The time to finish now is due.
The papers gathered, in a sheaf,
And everywhere is great relief.

THE HAUNTED HOUSE by R. James (3X)

I had felt like a walk that night. We had moved into our new house only three days and the whole family had been busy putting things right. I had spent the whole day painting and plastering and was in need of some fresh air. Not knowing the district I started to walk down a little country lane which I thought led to a hill overlooking the bay. But after a quarter of an hour the lane turned into a track, no wider than a street pavement. Then I saw it, an old, grey building standing lonely on the moors. It showed no lights and from what I could see of it, it was badly in need of repair. Then a loud vile screech rent the air, it came from the house. I looked at it, horrified, I wanted to turn and run but instead I stopped and thought. I thought it must have been somebody trapped in a fall, maybe a small child. I walked slowly up the old gravel path which was bordered by oak trees. I stopped at the door and pushed it. I was surprised it opened so easily but the rusty hinges groaned mysteriously as the door swung open. I stepped inside, the moon had disappeared from behind a cloud and it afforded just enough light coming in from the dusty windows and open door for me to see where it was. I was in the Great Hall.

The dusty floorboards squeaked ominously as I walked across then, brushing past filthy cobwebs. I had just decided to try a large oak door on my right (the drawing room) I thought when the loud screech again filled the air. I was horror struck and my only thought was to run away as fast as my legs carry me. I rushed to the door but before I could reach it a strong gust of wind smashed it shut in front of say face. I fumbled with the bolts for I could hear a loud thumping on the upstairs lending. Then a loud steady tread down the stairs. The fright rolled up inside me and I stumbled across the hall to the drawing room. The door burst open before my weight, and I fell into the room with a crash, sending up a cloud of dust. I spared a glance at the room before I dived under the table. It was in an advanced form of dilapidation, unlike the Great Hall, which was bare - this room had a few broken chairs besides the table I was under. By now the thumping was getting louder and the steady tramp, tramp, tramp, was coming towards the door. My heart was beating faster and my whole body was tense.

Then a white mist poured through the door, across the floor. This was followed by a great mass of white mist in the shape of a man. He was very old with flowing hair and wrinkled face contorted in pain. He wore a flowing robe which fell around his ankles. A heavy chain which stretched down to his feet was fastened around his arm. On the end of it was a great iron ball which made a thumping noise when he walked. He stood in the middle of the room and gave out such a screech that shook the walls and made the floor vibrate. He followed this up with a hideous sobbing after which he sank to the floor.

Unable to control myself any longer I screamed and ran to the windows. I threw myself out and hurtled to the ground amidst a shower of broken glass. I stood up, cut and bruised and ran as fast as I could all the way to my home.

Never again would I venture into that house and I moved to London from my new home in a matter of weeks.

THE FISHERMAN'S CATCH by M. Houghton

Are you the fisherman I've heard about,
Who catches, - Oh so many trout.
And in mill ponds - great ugly pike,
That all the lords and ladies like?

You stand beside a stagnant pool,
Paying out line from your spool.
And Hope that someday you will catch
A fish fit-to-win, any match.

Like a statue beside the pond you wait,
Wondering if a fish will take your bait.
But look, your float bobs, you've got a bite,
Then suddenly your line becomes tight.

You want to yell, shout and scream,
What is it, perch, pike or beam?
Great thoughts arise as to you prize,
Will the fish be fit for watcher's eyes?

You tug and pull in your fight for the fish,
Just helping it will fulfil your wish.
Then through the water, your fish comes clear.
A fish at which mouths gape, and eyes peer.

A huge huge flat bream, your wish you've seen,
Hooked in waters a bluey green.
With brassy sides and blue black fins,
Add this great fish to your other wins.

LITTLE BOY LOST by Rachel Harris

Poor little boy all battered and bashed,
Dirts pants and shirt all torn.
Was it a window that you smashed?
Poor little boy all battered and bashed.
(I'm sure it was a window that just crashed.)
You look so tired and forlorn.
Poor little boy all battered and bashed,
Dirty pants and shirt all torn.

THE OWL by B. Kellard

The silvery light of the moon shone down
Among the dark and ghostly trees
Whose branches shuddered in the breeze.
The rain was pattering on the ground;
An owl sat still in the cold night air,
He looked down at the sodden ground
At the fresh green grass that grew around.

Then suddenly the bird flew up
His wings vibrating in the wind
A mouse ran quickly o'er the ground
The mouse gave out a dying squeek
He was firmly held in the old owl's beak.
The owl returned to his midnight perch.

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